Nobody Told Me
by TheChicaChic
Summary: This is a message and a calling. So, get up and gather around, everyone. I'm withering. Dying. Trembling from trying. Barely crawling. What can be done? What will be done? Another Christmas story for Harry and Ruth; this one set after 10.6. As a warning, it's really not fluffy and is full of angst but Ruth didn't die and well, you'll see...


_**AN: This turned out much more emotional and angsty than I had originally planned. In fact, it was supposed to be light hearted and fluffy but then I started typing and well...this is what my fingers came up with. Again, a bit different than some of my past stories.**_

* * *

December 23rd, 17:27

Regret was not what she'd thought about when she'd day dreamed about life after the Service with Harry.

Living alone in a cottage on the shore of Suffolk hadn't been in her plans.

Recovering from being stabbed in the chest hadn't been on her to-do list either.

And yet all three of these; along with a multitude of other feelings and everyday facts and changes; were exactly what her life had come to consist of.

Nobody had told her how painful it was to wake from a decade long dream.

Walking slowly along the path; hands stuffed in coat pockets and head down; Ruth pondered all this. In the month she'd been out of hospital, she'd thought of little else. There were so many questions she had and no one to provide the answers.

* * *

October 25th, 10:03

The slow gliding of warm skin across her palm is the first cohesive thing she can grasp onto as she comes to. Back and forth. Just a light touch but it's there. A comfort in a hazy world.

The gliding stops and she thinks she can hear a voice in the distance. Mustering an enormous amount of mental strength and tried to focus on distant words.

_Ruth...hear me...squeeze..._

Somewhere she thinks she's squeezing her fingers closed but she's not sure. What she does register is the warmth pausing in one spot and the gentle pressure of something closing around what she thinks are her digits.

Then the haze is back again.

* * *

October 25th, 14:51

When she finally returns to full consciousness, she feels like she's choking though her cough is muffled by the tube in her throat. Eyes fluttering open, she has a moment of panic as she tries to figure out where she is and what has happened. A warm hand wraps around hers, squeezing tightly, as a low, soothing voice reassures her.

A voice she knows and dreams about daily.

"Shh. It's alright Ruth. Don't fight it."

In those few seconds it takes for Harry's voice to reach her, she replays her last sure memories.

Standing on that gray shoreline, Harry's hand gripped tightly in hers as he smiles slightly and agrees to her request of them leaving the Service. Together.

Sasha coming at them screaming. Harry turning and trying to move in front of her. Her not having it and moving towards the distressed young man.

And then blackness.

Stilling, she moves her eyes to the right and meets the worried hazel ones of Harry as he stands next to her bed, half leaning over her as he continues to squeeze her hand tightly in one of his, the other brushing her hair back.

"Just relax." he says soothingly as he leans closer, his dry lips pressing against her forehead.

She closes her eyes a moment, taking in the comfort he's showing with his voice and actions.

"Are you really awake this time?" he asks softly, his question causing her to open her eyes.

Unable to vocalize or even nod her head in answer, she instead squeezes his hand tightly in hers and holds his gaze.

"Thank God." he whispers, his shoulders seemingly sagging as a weight is removed from them. "Oh thank God."

She tries to smile in response but the tape holding the tube in place doesn't allow for her to move the muscles in her lower face. It doesn't matter though as he seems to understand what she's thinking and leans forward to brush his lips at the corner of her mouth.

Fingers still gripping hers, he lowers himself into the chair, not tarring his eyes from hers. "I'll call the Doctor in a moment." he says quietly, his grip unconsciously tightening. "I just need a few minutes with you before they take you away."

She squeezes his hand in response and watches him, wanting the time together as much as he does.

"Do you remember what happened?"

She's not sure how to answer at first and then a thought grips her. Shifting her hand in his, she rested a finger in his palm and pressed down five times; one long followed by a short tap and than three more longer ones; her answer no.

He smiles at this ingenious way of communicating before continuing.

"Are you in any pain?"

Again she presses against his palm, a mix of short tabs and long presses as she slowly spells out the words 'somewhat' and 'numb'.

He nods and watches as she tries to shift in the bed and winds up choking again on the tube in her mouth, standing to move towards the door.

"I'll get the nurse."

Before he can pull his hand away, she taps out 'don't leave'. He turns back to her, a wistful smile on his face as he shakes his head slowly. "I need to get the nurse. They need to do some tests before that tube can come out."

* * *

December 23rd, 17:31

That hadn't been the last time she'd seen him; he'd come for two weeks after that; but his visits had gotten progressively shorter.

And he'd grown quieter and more reserved each time she'd seen him.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise when he hadn't shown up one evening after work but it had.

And it had grown progressively more painful each day he stayed away until it reached a point where the pain numbed out and she couldn't feel anymore.

It had been worse than when she'd lost Nico after George's death. More so because she _knew_ he loved her as much as she loved him.

And she couldn't understand why he stopped coming.

Or why he wouldn't answer his phones when she tried calling. Her calls to his mobile and house just rang and rang until the voicemail picked up imploring her to leave a message so the recipient could return her call later. Which was more than his office phone. Her attempts to reach him at work always resulted in the switch board refusing to connect her through and subsequent calls to Erin, Calum, and Dmitri hadn't yielded any insight.

When she'd finally been released from hospital after 24 days there, she'd gone to his house in the hopes of seeing him. But he'd never answered the door or appeared to return in the evenings. Attempts to get into Thames House and the Grid had gone denied by security as she was on medical leave and they were under orders to not allow her onto the premises. Harry's orders.

For her own protection of her health and wellbeing of course.

He couldn't be bothered to tell her that himself. No, that had been the job of Stan the security guard.

Even the Home Secretary had been unhelpful in reaching Harry or finding out the reasoning behind his sudden extraction from her life. Though during her meeting with him, she could read the regret in his eyes and knew he was doing it against his personal feelings.

He'd informed her of her medical leave; the six months time her doctors had recommended for recovery and physiotherapy; before she needed to make any decision about returning to her position or retiring. As he'd gently assisted her from her chair, he'd implored her to think long and hard about her decision over those months, and if she needed anything at all, to call and he would see to it.

But he'd been unable to give her what she really wanted and needed.

To know what she'd done wrong.

To help her navigate the challenges of her recovery and limits on her everyday life.

To understand why she was alone.

Settling onto a park bench, she drew in a long and deep breath, the scarf wrapped around her face helping to keep the cold from directly effecting her breathing. Only five more sessions of physio and she'd physically be healed. But the emotional trauma from both the stabbing and Harry's decision to stop caring would take longer.

_We'll never dance in the snow surrounded by fairy lights._ Filters through her mind as she watches the lights flicker around through the trees surrounding the park. Which makes her laugh at the thought as she wonders where it had come from.

* * *

Standing in the shadows, Harry watched her. Contrary to what she believed, he hadn't stopped caring. Not by a long shot.

It was because he cared that he'd stayed away.

And each day ripped at something deep within him. To not be there as she'd gained color back in the hospital. To be apart from her on the day she'd been released into outpatient care with a prognosis of many more years of life after a period of physiotherapy to building up the strength in her lungs after suffering from pneumothorax. To ignore her numerous phone calls and other attempts at contacting him.

He'd suffered as much as she had.

But it had been for her protection and well being that he'd done it.

How many times in the past had his past and present decisions affected her life?

The others on the Grid talking about her after their one and only date. Because of his driver.

Having to fake her own death and leaving all that she cared about. Because of others figuring out she was his weakness.

The death of the man she'd settled with in her new life. Because of his past missions.

The loss of her child because of the same.

Her kidnapping at the hands of a friend. Because of his love for her.

The emotional pain he'd put her through. Because of his past indiscretions.

Being stabbed in the chest and almost suffocating to death. Because of her love for him.

No, when she'd been lying in that hospital bed after surgery to repair the damage to her chest and lung, he'd made a promise. To himself and to God, that he'd not let Ruth suffer any more pain and loss because of him. That when she woke up and was out of danger, he'd leave her alone to eventually move on with her life.

It'd been the hardest thing he'd done since leaving his two small children all those years ago. But every time he'd thought of caving and picking up the phone or answering the door, he'd thought of her blood flowing onto his hands. Of her cold lips pressed against his as he'd cradled her in that grassy meadow. And his resolve to protect her won out again.

He'd enlisted help in ensuring she was well cared for and protected.

A few well placed hints had been dropped to the Home Secretary about past secrets long thought hidden had ensured a steady pay check for some time and a job should she still want it after recovering.

Two phone calls; one to Alec and one to Malcolm; had the former Spooks agreeing to keep a watch on her. Low profile of course, but they'd ensured she was safe from any kind of danger and was taking care of herself.

And on nights when he knew Alec wasn't following her or lurking in the lane outside her cottage, he'd driven out. Stood in the shadows of the lane and watched as she'd slowly moved about the rooms, his mind building images of them there together.

From Alec's surveillance and Malcolm's perusing of her diary, he'd known she'd had a physio appointment at 16:00 at the hospital in Ipswich. The perfect time to stealthy slip into her living space and ensure she was truly taking care of herself. To see for himself that she was moving on with her life.

And to momentarily surround himself in her.

It hadn't worked. As he'd stood in her kitchen taking in the small signs of her life, he'd come to the realization that as better off as she was without him, he wasn't truly alive unless he was with her.

The sight of a well thumbed copy of Dante's 'Devine Comedy' turned down on the table, an empty tea mug sitting next to it and a plate with toast crumbs had made him long to sit there with her after super. Paper spread out in front of him, her sock covered feet in his lap as he slowly and lovingly rubbed away the aches from their daily exploration of all Suffolk had to offer.

As he'd gripped the counter in his gloved hand, he'd fought back the onslaught of tears he'd been holding onto since she'd fallen to the ground, landing in his arms before the cold earth had claimed her.

Turning, he'd leaned his back against the solid wood and slid down, sobs raking through him as all the emotions he'd been keeping at bay let loose. For twenty minutes he'd sat there, body shaking as all that pent up pain had released. And as he'd once again gained control of himself, he'd made the decision to see her.

To beg for her forgiveness.

Even if he didn't deserve it.

And so now he stood, not ten feet away, encased in shadow. Watching as she took slow, even breaths. Deep breaths. Breaths of life.

Mentally preparing himself for whatever was to come.

Stepping forward, he paused a moment before settling onto the bench next to her. Waiting. Watching. Until she became aware of his presence and turned.

"Ruth."

He heard her gasp as her mind processed that he was sitting next to her. It was followed shortly by her standing and moving away from him, her eyes never leaving as she faced him.

"What the hell?"

Eyes meeting hers, Harry slowly stood and moved to stand in front of her. Not touching. Not yet. But close. He tried to read the emotion flitting through the changing colors of her irises but they changed so fast, he didn't know what to expect.

"Ruth. I'm sorry." he said softly.

His quiet apology broke through her shock and she moved forward, her fists pounding into his chest before either could register her movement.

"How dare you!" she cried, tears flowing down her cheeks as she continued to hit him. "How dare you show up here after a month of cutting me and mumble a sorry. Like that makes everything better."

"Ruth stop it!" Arms lifting, he grasped her arms in his and pulled her to him in an effort to stop her assault. Not out of fear or pain but rather the need to keep her from hurting herself again. Hands sliding up her back, he cradled her to his chest as she tried to break free.

"Ruth stop. Please. Don't hurt yourself." Pressing his face into her hair, he held her, speaking quietly in an attempt to sooth her. "Please."

Eventually she stopped struggling, her fists opening to grip his coat tightly as her anger turned to gut wrenching sobs. Holding her tightly, he ran a hand over her hair, his eyes closing as he breathed in the scent of lavender from her hair and offered her whatever comfort he could.

He didn't know how much time passed before he felt her shift in his arms. Opening his eyes, he looked down and watched as she slowly lifted her face to his, her eyes red rimmed and blood shot as she stared. One hand tangling in her hair, the other pressing into her lower back, he refused to let her go.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice low and hoarse from the combination of crying and labored breathing.

"I...came to check that everything was alright with you."

As he spoke, he felt her tense. His hold tightening, he refused to release her as she pressed her palms against his chest.

"I'm fine. No need to worry. Go back to London and your life. Leave me alone."

"Ruth..."

"NO! I don't need you here. Checking up on me. Just go away." She started struggling again, her hands pushing at him as she couldn't find the room to pound against him again.

"I'm not going anywhere." he growled, his mouth against her ear.

"Why not? It's what you're good at." she bit out, fingers sliding on black wool. "You proved that once your conscious was absolved and I didn't die. Though I'm sure you wish I had." she said, bitterly laughing as she gave up fighting.

"Don't say that."

"It's the truth. Had I died you wouldn't need to be here wasting your time checking that everything was alright with me."

Pushing her back, Harry gripped her chin tightly in his hand, his fingers digging into the flesh as he forced her to meet his eyes.

"Do. Not. Say. That." he bit out, barely controlling his anger. "Don't you dare talk about dying."

She said nothing, her eyes blazing into his as she fought to breath evenly.

Fingers loosening, he kept his hold on her face and continued. "For two long days I sat by that hospital bed, your hand gripped in mine and prayed that you'd live. Prayed to a God I had long ago given up on that if he'd just spare you, I'd leave you alone. Let you get on with your life, away from the death, destruction and deception that follows me everywhere. That I knew you'd be better off away from me. Safer. Alive. And when you woke up, when you squeezed my hand with your fingers, I knew He had let you live."

"What gave you the right to make that decision?"

"I love you." he said, his hands shaking as he fought to keep from shaking her. "That gives me every right in the world to protect you."

Rebuttal dying on her tongue, Ruth stared at him, the anger deflating at his quiet declaration.

"I thought I watched you die. Your blood covered my hands as you struggled to live. Do you have any idea what I'd give up so you could live? Any at all?"

"I'm slowly learning." she said quietly, her hand lifting to caress his cheek.

Quietly, they stood there, eyes seemingly talking to the other as he continued to hold her and her fingers ran along his skin. They continued to stand there until the cold air became too much for Ruth's weakened lung and she started coughing.

Lying her head against his chest, she felt his fingers brush through her hair. Slowly breathing in the warmed air from their combined body heat, she felt the weeks of tension and loss leaving her. Wrapped in the cocoon of his warmth, she felt whole since that afternoon in front of the bunker.

As Harry swayed slowly in the cold wind, he knew they had a lot to talk about. They'd never be able to have a lasting relationship if they weren't open with their fears and feelings; and if they didn't deal with the emotional damage the last month and a half had done to each of them.

But they could talk about that in the morning. He wasn't leaving. Not that he'd now come home. Christmas was a time of healing and renewed strength, and for the first time in years he could honestly believe in that.

He felt lighter as she leaned back, her eyes still red rimmed from crying, but laughter falling from her lips. Fingers sliding to her cheek, her smiled softly at her.

"What's so funny?" he asked, his heart filling with joy.

"This. Us. Standing here in the dark swaying." Seeing the confusion in his eyes, she pulled him closer. "It's just before you came, I was thinking. It was completely random but I couldn't help but think that we'd never dance in the snow surrounded by fairy lights. And we are. Kind of."

* * *

_**AN: The title for this story comes from the US band 'Vintage Trouble' off their debut CD 'Bomb Shelter Sessions' so I can't take any credit for coming up with it. **_

_**Just another offering of a holiday tribute to the wonder Harry and Ruth, and like a four year old on Christmas morning with presents, reviews are loved.**_


End file.
